Because he's dead. Right. Sefton gets that, and it's good to know there's an alternative after-life for people who don't come specifically from his London, even if he still needs to fix that mess.
He attempts a bow, aware of its awkward, but hoping the intent gets across, before sitting down on the rock at the edge where he can use it like a chair. In his hand now is the standard issue police notebook which he's scribbled the letters MW in the corner.
"So full disclosure I've been into this stuff for like a year, and there's no decent record of it, so it's all oral tradition and the people in the tradition just don't like to talk to people like me - " he means cops, but the fact that the London Magical Community is all white people isn't irrelevent - "so I'm basically making it up as I go."
no subject
He attempts a bow, aware of its awkward, but hoping the intent gets across, before sitting down on the rock at the edge where he can use it like a chair. In his hand now is the standard issue police notebook which he's scribbled the letters MW in the corner.
"So full disclosure I've been into this stuff for like a year, and there's no decent record of it, so it's all oral tradition and the people in the tradition just don't like to talk to people like me - " he means cops, but the fact that the London Magical Community is all white people isn't irrelevent - "so I'm basically making it up as I go."